


Flying Firefly: Variants In Insanity

by fringeperson



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Firefly
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Interrogation, M/M, Old Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27572773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fringeperson/pseuds/fringeperson
Summary: Cid and Vincent decide to take a holiday in the black - and if it's to be a holiday, then Cid can't be the man in charge of the ship. They catch a ride on a Firefly class ship called Serenity.~Originally posted in '12
Relationships: Cid Highwind/Vincent Valentine
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Flying Firefly: Variants In Insanity

His dream had come true: space travel. It was real, it was accessible... but in recent decades it had become a necessity. Or rather, it had come to be viewed as a necessity. It wasn't really. Not for the people of Gaia. They had everything they needed on their home planet. They had power, they had government, they had agriculture and aquaculture, they had a stable economy and if ShinRa was good for one thing besides electricity (which these days came from various wind- and sun-farms as well as hydro-stations rather than mako reactors) it was their scientific advances. Not the human experimentation, thank Ifrit, but it produced everything the people needed from potions to phoenix downs to television and engine parts.

Rufus had a better head for business than his father, that was for certain, and each successive Shinra had been more shrewd and sensible than the last. ShinRa was an umbrella company these days, with lots of little branches with lots of different names doing lots of different things. Just about the only thing ShinRa didn't have a hand in was food production and breeding chocobos. Then again, it was a widely believed rumour that in the early days of the company, ShinRa had served up failed experiments as part of the Mystery Meats in their cafeterias, so no one really trusted ShinRa when it came to foodstuffs, even seven centuries later.

As for chocobos, well, Cloud had the monopoly there. Oh there were still various ranchers about the planet who people could go to if they needed a chocobo for anything, but Cloud bred the best birds on the planet. Known fact. Whatever you needed the bird for. Cloud had chocobos that swam, that climbed mountains, that just ate up ground all day at a steady pace, that could fight off monsters (up to a certain size of course), that were good in snow or swamps or deserts... Last time he'd seen his one-time leader, Cloud had been working on breeding a chocobo capable of _flight_.

Anything involving flying was a worthy cause in his book, but him? When it came to him flying, he liked his more man-made craft. Planes, air ships, hovercraft were coming in as a big thing these days, and before them he hadn't minded the power of a fast car or motorbike for the second-best thing to flying. Gliders were alright, but he was a man of engine-grease and monkey-wrenches. He liked to tinker with his contraptions. Not much on a glider to tinker with really.

“Cid,” a voice called. Low, not as rusty as it used to be now that it got used a bit more often.

He turned and smiled. “Hey Vincent,” he answered, greeting the  _other_ love of his life – and the reason he hadn't aged (or more to the point, bit the dust) in the centuries since they had met.

Cloud had been tinkered with by Hojo, and then the Planet had decided that Cloud would be her champion in case anything ever happened again. Poor boy joined the ranks of the Weapons, though he was more conscious of the fact and was able to live a relatively normal, fairly human life despite that. Always adopting orphans, helping them grow up to be contributing members of society, lending advice to ShinRa (which had actually merged with the WRO some fifty years after the last of the  _old_ ShinRa messes had been cleaned up) when called upon or when he felt it was needful – and fighting monsters.

Cid, on the other hand, was still around because of Vincent. Vincent had been killed and then suffered having a sort of anthropomorphic personification shoved into him. How that woman had managed to actually  _get_ Chaos in the  _first_ place was still a complete unknown, but what it meant for Vincent was that he wouldn't age, and wouldn't die. Oh he could be killed, but it wouldn't be a permanent thing. More like... a healing coma. What this had to do with Cid? Cid was... the Planet's 'gift' to Vincent. Kinda like having Aerith and Zack hovering around was Cloud's, to make up for the loneliness of immortality. Cid even had a great big mark on his left shoulder-blade denoting Vincent's 'ownership' of him.

Cid was glad of it. If he didn't belong to Vincent this way, then he would never have seen the space ships descend on Gaia, would never have gotten to laugh in the faces of the men and women who had come with helmeted suits and 'terraforming technology' because they hadn't believed that there were planets out there with life on them  _already_ , that could sustain  _human_ life without having to have something about their atmospheres altered somehow.

Edge and Junon had become the cities with space ports. The places to get inter-planetary goods that no one really needed but were sure a lot of fun to have sometimes. The only thing, really, that had impacted people's lives since then in a big way (apart from being able to hop over to the other planets in the Enix system like Spira) was access to the cortex. Thanks to that, Cid knew everything about every engine  _ever_ built – on Gaia and off. He knew how the parts were manufactured and put together, he knew blueprints and schematics and processes and theories for further advances. He'd built Vincent a new coffin with all of his know-how too. It kept out all sound save from a little intercom for if Vincent wanted something. It kept filtering in fresh air and out stale air. It maintained a constant, comfortable temperature – but at the same time was adjustable if Vincent ever wanted to be warmer or cooler. It was lined, quilted, padded, and self-sterilising any time the lid was closed without Vincent in it – something that the coffin  _knew_ because of pressure pads along the bed. It could fit Cid in there  _with_ Vincent too, if they had that inclination – and they did have, quite often.

The coffin even had hidden compartments where things could be stored for transport, since they liked to travel around. The usual sorts of things carried were a full array of different materia, weapons of course, clean clothing, and a few other bits and bobs as Vincent or Cid discovered things to be useful to have on hand. It was a useful magic that kept all of that stuff stored in the not-so-big spaces designated for hide-y-holes.

“Thinking?” Vincent asked.

Cid nodded. “We're leaving Gaia, a little reminiscing isn't inappropriate,” he answered with a slight smile.

Vincent nodded in acceptance of this. After the universe-wide war between the Alliance and the Independents, things had changed. Not so much in the Enix system where the locals had all done an exemplary job of keeping the foreigners _out_ – uniting peoples and races that had been enemies for generations towards the same goal, actually. That was the big change in the Enix system from the war. One big war to end most of the petty differences. The Alliance had certainly been blown out of their skies when faced with Summons. A fair portion of the soldiers had been unnerved to be facing the less humanoid races as well, to say nothing of the magic. Phoenix Down had been a little scarce by the end of the conflict, but that was what ShinRa's science department was good for. It was helpful that ShinRa had supplied Soldier Treatments to those wanting to fight as well. Mako shots and weapons drills before sending out the fighters. The Independents might have lost the war, the rest of the universe believe that they were all 'unified', but the Enix system had held out. They'd existed for centuries before the space ships had arrived with their needless terraforming technology after all. What could they possibly _need_ from the foreigners?

Nothing. Well. Nothing but a good time – and that was a want more than need. Clothes were the most popular import really. Fashion from across the universe. Teenagers were the big buyers for that stuff too. Once ShinRa had gotten their hands on the new technology they'd done an excellent job of reverse engineering it all, and exported out to all the other planets in the Enix system that hadn't bothered to do it themselves – or had tried but not succeeded for whatever reasons.

And now, Cid and Vincent were going to go out and find themselves a good time on some other planet. Certainly they had both visited the other planets in the Enix system, but that was during the war and just after, helping to clean up after. Nothing long-term. This was different. This was the two of them leaving not only Gaia behind, but the whole Enix system. There was a sky to fly in after all, and through their centuries together, Vincent had come to love flying just as much as his captain.

“The ship is due to leave in half an hour,” Vincent said, drawing himself and Cid both out of their silent musings. “We should load.”

“And say g'bye to Cloud,” Cid agreed, turning away from the view of the plains beyond Edge – finally green again – and gently tangling his fingers with Vincent's for a moment before walking on. Neither of them were really big on public displays of affection like hand-holding, but now and then just the touch was nice to have.

~oOo~

Getting out of the Enix system wasn't hard, but part of the fun for Cid and Vincent was changing ship every stop that they could. The choice of ship was always left up to Cid, as Vincent preferred to be loaded on in his coffin. Besides, Cid always picked _good_ ships to sail with. Sometimes the choice was made based on the engine, on the mechanic, sometimes on the pilot or the captain – and Cid was always _very_ respectful towards the captains, since he knew how much he hated it when other people tried to take over flying _his_ ships.

Presently, Cid was walking along the docks of Persephone, considering the various ships that were available to him. He'd already dismissed the shinier ships. Too much polish, not enough heart to his thinking. That, and no one from the Enix system ever actually _had_ the papers that were being checked by so many of those fancy ships with more polish than heart.

“You're comin' with us!” a bubbly voice declared happily, dragging Cid's attention from his analysis of the various ships lined up along the Eavesdown Docks.

Cid grinned his cocky, cheeky grin that he'd once perfected around the filter of a cigarette – long before he'd quit for Vincent – as he turned to see the owner of that voice.

“Ya sure of that missy?” he asked. “Part from anythin' else, I'm seein' only a you, single, not a plural.”

The young woman laughed and got out of her make-shift chair. “I been watching. You're lookin' at the ships, not the destinations. Mine's the nicest,” she asserted with a smile.

Cid looked the girl up and down – and really, to him, she was. Sure, she may have been old enough to be considered a woman, but live for five hundred years, give or take, and everybody's a kid. She had a slightly tattered paper parasol over her shoulder and a pair of cover-alls rolled up her legs while she had a blue-green jacket over the top, flowers tastefully everywhere.

Cid's grin became a smirk as he snorted in amusement. “Alright girly,” he allowed. “Show me your ship. I'll be the one to decide if yours is the one I want to trust me and my cargo to.”

The young woman beamed and led him into the cargo bay.

“Serenity is a firefly class boat. I'm the mechanic, we're running an Aught-3, already got a couple of other passengers signed on -”

“Not minding about company,” Cid cut in. “Show me that engine?” he asked with a smile.

The girl's face lit up with pleasure and she led the way to the engine room.

Cid instantly spotted the compression coil that was very nearly worn out, jerked his thumb at it and raised a questioning eyebrow pointedly.

“I been tryin' to convince the captain we need a couple new parts, but we're a bit tight on funds for those parts...” she admitted sheepishly. “I been makin' the best of what I got, Serenity is mother and home to us, an' my girl.”

Cid chuckled. “Alright girly,” he said, shaking his head, letting her know he didn't need to hear any more of the sales pitch. “You've sold me. This is the first ship I've seen has a heart, not just a whole lot of parts. How much for my passage and the carrying of my cargo? And what's your name, girly?”

“I'm Kaylee,” she answered with a beaming grin. “And price depends on how far you want us to take you, and how much cargo you got.”

Cid smiled. “Well, then I'll fetch my cargo and we can talk how much of my gold you'll be takin'.”

~oOo~

“What's the ship Cid?” Vincent asked when the blonde returned to their 'hotel' room. It was above a bar, bit of a dive, but though they could afford better (people outside the Enix system liked their metals, gold one of the top ones, and they carried a few philosophers stones around, mostly for home-made elixers as needed, but they did good double-duty on making gold too) they were travelling for the atmosphere. The dirty, gritty, _real_ atmosphere. Not the perfectly clean shows put on by the 'civilised' people. They'd have never fit in.

“Found one with heart,” Cid answered. “Firefly class, called Serenity. Needs a few new parts though, and their captain's so tight on money he can barely afford the essentials.”

Vincent smiled. “I'll pack up here,” he said. “You go shopping for the parts they need.”

Cid grinned. “Don't know how I got so lucky to be made yours Vincent,” he said softly. “I'll grab some grub too. Fresh fruit, veggies, not this _protein in ev'ry colour o' the rainbow_ crap. Reckon them as still gotta eat will be mighty glad of it out in the black. See if I can't get my hands on some good _tea_ as well.”

Vincent nodded, smiling silently at Cid's desire for tea. Neither of them needed to eat any more, hadn't for a _very_ long time, but they both still needed to keep up their fluids, and Cid's old obsession with tea had become a shared one. There was nothing quite as relaxing as a good cuppa. “Get some frozen vegetables as well,” he suggested. “They'll last longer that way.”

Cid closed the space between them and gave Vincent a quick peck on the lips. “I'll have it crated up an' I'll come get yeh in a half hour, no later,” he promised.

Vincent grabbed Cid by the back of his neck and claimed a more satisfying kiss before smiling and letting the man go do the little bit of shopping he wanted to do.

It wasn't long before Cid was back at the Serenity, his recent purchases and Vincent in his coffin in toe.

“Present for the pretty mechanic,” Cid offered with a grin, producing a brand spanking new compression coil.

Kaylee blushed, smiled, and gratefully accepted the part, cooing over it like any other girl might over a china doll. Then she noticed Cid's _other_ cargo. “What's that?” she asked.

“My bit of cargo,” Cid answered easily. “Got all my worldly goods and everything in the 'verse that's precious to me in the larger box. Well, everything but one old friend back home an' all _his_ junk,” he amended with a smile. “Got more parts and some fruit an' veg in the other, ifn' ya interested in havin' 'em.”

Kaylee smiled at the first, then gaped at the second, before getting some of her senses back and helped Cid wheel the coffin – not that she'd been told that's what it was of course – into the cargo bay. They'd stowed the second and were just talking price when the other passengers and crew arrived in the cargo bay's open door.

“Fare's a set price Kaylee. Why you tryin' to haggle the man down?” asked a blue-eyed man.

“That's not it Cap'n!” Kaylee objected. “He's tryin' ta talk it _up_!”

“Then don't argue with him!” the man Kaylee had called the captain answered firmly. “I may not like charity, but we need all we can get if we're going to stay in the sky.”

Kaylee sighed. “Yes Cap'n,” she answered, and accepted Cid's bulging little bag of pure gold.

The captain stared for a moment at the bag, clearly calculating how much all that gold was worth, eyes wide. It didn't take him too long to shake off, thankfully, before he was ordering all hands to stations, wanting to know how everything was running aboard his boat. Once a shuttle docked with them – it was apparently rented to someone – the pilot was ordered to get them out of atmo.

Then it was all passengers front and centre for the welcome speech.

“Meals are taken here in the dining area, kitchen is fairly self-explanatory an' you're all welcome to it any time you like. We got the standard fare, protein in all colours of the rainbow. We do have sit-down meals, next one being at about I think eighteen-hundred.”

“Mr Highwind has donated us all some extra rations, fresh fruit, veg, that sort of thing,” Kaylee interjected with a smile.

“Mighty grateful,” Mal said, nodding to the man.

Cid nodded silently back.

“And Sheppard Book has offered to help me prepare something,” Kaylee finished, directing her smile to the man who _looked_ like the oldest among them – who smiled back and nodded his agreement.

“You're a Sheppard?” Mal asked the coffee-skinned man.

“Thought the outfit gave it away,” Sheppard Book answered with a smile. “Is it a problem?” he asked.

“Of course not!” Kaylee countered with a smile. “It's no problem, 'cause it's... not.”

“No,” Mal agreed, though he looked like he'd aged a couple of years as he said that. “As I said, you're welcome to visit the dining area at any time, apart from that I have to ask to stay in the passenger dorm while we're in the air. The bridge, engine room, cargo bay and so on are off limits without an escort.”

“I have some of my personal effects in the cargo bay,” interjected a nervous looking, very _clean_ young man. Kid was easily the cleanest looking person in the room. Hair slicked back, not even the shade of potential stubble anywhere on his chin or upper lip. Crisp lines to clean clothes.

Cid snorted. “We all do kid,” he said bluntly, “an' they know't.”

The captain nodded. “Figured you all got luggage you'll need to get to,” he agreed. “Soon as we're done here, we'll be happy to fetch 'em with you. Now I have to tell you all one more thing – and I apologize in advance for the inconvenience. Unfortunately, we've been ordered by the Alliance to drop some medical supplies off on Whitefall,” he said. “It's the fourth moon on Athens, a little out of our way, but we should have you on Boros no more than a day off schedule.”

“What medical supplies?” asked the clean boy.

Mal gave the young man a look that wanted to know where the kid got off asking something like that before he answered. “I didn't honestly ask,” he said curtly.

“And it's not your place to either,” Cid growled at the kid before anybody else could speak up, recognising a man who was carrying cargo he didn't want found when he saw one. “Stickin' yer nose in where it doesn't belong is a fast way to getting it cut off. I mean that in a friendly way, as advice from a man a bit more well-travelled than you look to be.”

“Alliance says jump,” the captain added, a slightly soured 'false happy' look on his face when he said that which indicated to Cid that there was no way the man ever asked 'how high?' and rather just briefly lifted both feet off the ground – and only then if he had to. “Any _more_ questions?”

“Jus' one from me,” Cid spoke up. “Got running water anywhere but the kitchen? Only it's a bit of a way from the passenger dorms for me to want to go for a cup of tea in the middle of the sleep-cycle.”

“There's washrooms in every cabin,” the first mate answered. “Got sinks in. If you've got your own way to boil the water that's fine, otherwise...”

Cid nodded. “I gotcha,” he answered. “Thanks.”

~oOo~

At eighteen-hundred, the designated dinner time, Cid brought out his tea set (the less fragile one that he brought out when aboard ships that weren't his own), made himself a pot, then picked a chair to settle down in. Vincent, he knew, was fine with sleeping however long in his coffin, and wouldn't mind missing dinner. It wasn't like either of them needed to eat after all. Heck, Cid would have skipped out himself if it wouldn't have been so worrying for the crew. Or the other passengers. Sheppard Book was the only one not looking even slightly jumpy to Cid's eyes. Apart from himself of course.

The crew were a bit twitchy, though very grateful for the Sheppard's culinary skills. Probably nervous of the passengers finding something in the cargo that they shouldn't. The clean boy, Simon Tam he'd said his name was, was very _deliberately_ composed as he made polite conversation. Still sweating a bit despite that, and asked the wrong sorts of questions quite by accident. New to the whole 'being on the run' thing, Cid figured. And the other one, Lawrence Dobson, was silent as he was watching Tam, almost exclusively. Only when he thought no one was lookin', of course, but watching all the same – and if that wasn't a pea-shooter of a gun in the man's boot, then Cid was a blind man and totally unworthy of even cleaning the dirt off the bottom of Vincent's shiny boots.

Conversation ground to a halt when the Sheppard asked if anyone would mind if he said grace.

“Only if you say it aloud,” had been the captain's response. Dutifully, it was a moment of silence around the table as several people followed the older man's lead.

“So does this happen a lot?” Simon asked, trying to bring back casual conversation as people reached for their utensils to begin eating – and failing spectacularly. “The Government commandeering your ship, telling you where to go?”

“That's what governments are for,” Mal answered flatly. “Get in a man's way.”

“What did I say earlier about your nose?” Cid reminded the boy absently between sips of tea.

“But it's good,” Dobson spoke up. Too quickly and too sincere in his sentiment to be anything but a man loyal to the Alliance. “If the supplies are needed.”

“Sure, we're all about doin' good works,” quipped a man who, to Cid's senses, smelled a bit of gun oil. Travelling with Vincent, a man got to know the smell of gun oil. This man's name, according to introductions, was Jayne. Not the strangest name to Cid's mind. After all, he knew _Cloud_ , among _many_ others. Any man willing to own up to a names like of those was either lacking shame, in possession of a brutal kind of honesty, or had the stuff to make anyone teasing them regret it. Often enough in Cid's experience, people with names like that were frequently all three (to at least some degree) by the time they got out of puberty.

“I hear that a lot of the border moons are in bad shape...” Dobson said. “Plagues, famine...”

“Well, some of it's exaggerated,” the first mate, a woman called Zoe, answered. “And some of it ain't.”

Cid grunted. “To build any place ya need money, skill, and a lot a hands. Most o' them places is missin' least _two_ o' those. Don't help that a lot of the places didn't or couldn't get terraformed well enough to _grow_ the basics of food,” he said, and snorted in contempt. “Not that most the folks out there know shit about growin' anyway. Just a bunch a people know about livin' in cities where everything comes outta the shops. No good for early stages of civilisation buildin'.”

“Oh they terraformed as close to Earth-That-Was as well as they could,” Kaylee put in. “Ya know, atmosphere, gravity... But no, it don't all go as good on the Rim planets an' moons as it does in the Core.”

“And once they're terraformed, settlers just get dumped out there with nothing more than a few blankets, hatchets, and maybe a herd if they're lucky,” Mal finished. “The distances make delivering basic goods more trouble than the Alliance cares for more often than it don't. Some settlements make it, some don't.”

“I guess it's good that you're helping,” Simon offered weakly. Clearly still supporting the Alliance, though perhaps not quite as staunchly as he once had.

“You're a doctor right?” Kaylee asked with a smile, trying to re-direct conversation.

“Y-yes. I was a trauma surgeon on Osiris,” Simon answered. “In the capital city.”

“Long way from here,” Mal observed with a grunt.

“Core planet,” Cid agreed with a nod as he recalled the space maps he'd had occasion to peruse on the cortex in the past. “Can't imagine there bein' much call for a trauma surgeon there.”

“Well, I did have to reattach a girl's leg once,” Simon said in his own defence. “Worked like it hadn't ever been separated. She didn't even scar,” he added.

“Wow,” Kaylee breathed, eyes wide. “An' you're so young, f'r being a doctor...”

“You're pretty young to be a ship's mechanic,” Simon countered.

“No how,” Kaylee answered.

“Any little kid's allowed to play with busted machine parts. Can't start medical learning until you've been through school for years,” Cid cut in, then smirked. “Betcha the missy here's been fixin' engines longer 'n you been fixin' people Doc.”

“She is good,” Mal said, giving Kaylee a proud, fatherly type smile that the girl beamed back at him happily.

“Machine's got workin's... an' they talk to me,” Kaylee said, bashfully.

“It's a rare gift,” Sheppard Book offered.

“Ain't nearly as impressive as bein' a doctor though, patchin' people up...” Kaylee demurred.

“Maybe,” Cid said. “But it's _just as_ _important_. People really only need a doctor when they got somethin' wrong with 'em, and then they're often desperate. Need good engineers an' mechanics _all_ the time.”

Jayne nodded, supporting the idea and lending his voice to it. “Without someone knows how to put bits of metal together we don't got life support. Hell, our wires get crossed we don't have lights any more. Ev'ry town on ev'ry dusty shit-heap we ever landed on's got a mechanic. Doctors, not so much. Less vital to the runnin' of things.”

“People make do without doctors,” Cid stated solemnly.

~oOo~

They heard Dobson yell “get on the ground” twice, and “get the hell away from that weapon” once. Kaylee and Jayne had gotten out of their seats about the time the second “get on the ground” had drifted up from the cargo bay, putting down the cards they'd been using in their game with Cid. Worry on Kaylee's face and a determination to find out what was going on all over Jayne's.

“I'll go,” he said firmly, gesturing for Kaylee to stay put.

“I'm comin'!” Kaylee objected.

Cid sighed, settled his cards face down, and stood as well. “I'll play wall,” he offered. “That means you stay behind me young miss,” Cid added in Kaylee's direction. “Don't want to see you get hurt 'cause you wanted to see what's going on.”

“I agree with him,” Jayne added firmly. “Cap would have a fit if'n you got hurt.”

Kaylee pressed her lips together, a little unhappy with how many orders she was getting, but at the same time appeased by their being protective of her. She nodded her willingness to agree to this plan, and followed the two men down.

“ _Back off_!” Dobson's voice yelled as the three of them made their way through the corridors to the nearest door to the cargo bay.

“What's going on?” Kaylee asked, voice tentative and slightly fearful.

Dobson whirled around to face them at the sound of Kaylee's voice, and he must have been a very nervous man, because his trigger finger jerked back, firing his gun.

“Shit,” Cid cursed as he felt the bullet rip into his right side – the side of him not covered by Jayne's body in front of him. There just isn't time, sometimes, to call on appropriate defensive materia. At least the girl was fine, and he was hardly gonna stay hurt for long. Just had to dig out the bullet first.

Cid ignored the commotion in favour of getting his gloves off and his fingers into his own side. He could be grateful that the bullet was just in the muscles, not tearing through his guts. That would have been _very_ unpleasant. Still, the bullet was a bugger to find and Kaylee was fluttering over him nervously as he sank down to sit against the wall while he felt around for the slug. With another curse, Cid finally pulled the bit out and held it up for his personal inspection – as well as to distract Kaylee, and Inara, who had joined her in fluttering nervously over him – while his other hand subtly applied a Cure spell.

“Ain't hardly a mosquito bite,” Cid assured the two women with a smile. “Need to wash the duds though, I'm thinkin',” he added with a depreciating chuckle as he looked down at the bloody hole that went through both his favourite jacket and his tee-shirt. “Mend them too,” he grumbled.

“Some mosquito!” Kaylee objected, her brown eyes wide with worry on his behalf as she took the bullet from his hand and gaped at it in horrified fascination before looking down at his bloody clothing.

Cid sighed. “True enough,” he allowed as he reclaimed the bullet. “An' it coulda bit _you_ if I weren't standin' 'tween ya an' the action,” he said pointedly. “So you don't go walkin' your pretty little self into situations where people are yellin' like we heard this lot do before, alright?”

Kaylee nodded and smiled weakly in answer.

Cid then noticed the yelling match going on between the captain and one of his passengers, and frowned deeply before he whistled sharply, getting their attention.

“Brat, this ain't your boat. Payin' passage don't give you right to give orders. That's the captain's job, and if he decides to dump you out the airlock then he's free to do so. So you sit down, shut up, and let the captain do the deciding. If you don't like that option, the airlock _is_ an option you can take for yourself,” Cid stated.

“Thank you,” Mal said, more than a bit surprised to hear all that coming from a man he'd thought was seriously injured. More than a bit pleased too. Not just that the man wasn't that badly injured, but he didn't get enough captainly respect on his boat some days, so it was a nice change. Speaking of change. “Change course,” he said to Zoe. “I want Alliance on my pi gu about as much as I want a bullet in the same place.”

Zoe nodded and left for the comm unit nearby to relay the orders to Wash.

Mal turned to Simon. “I do, however, want answers. Very much,” he said firmly. “That man,” he continued, pointing his own gun down at Dobson where Book and Jayne had tied the currently unconscious and slightly beaten man, “boarded my boat because of _you_. You and whatever the hell your cargo is. Which brings me to ask: what the gorram hell is in that box?”

Simon didn't answer. In fact looked like he was refusing to answer.

“Guess we'll find out the hard way then,” Mal decided as he took in the face of defiance one of his passengers was presenting to him.

“You can't!” Simon objected, even as Jayne restrained _him_ so Mal could get to opening the box in question without having to fight off the Core boy. Or listen to him, since Jayne's version of restraint, in this instance, was to have one arm around Simon's neck so that he couldn't talk.

It was a move that Cid felt Barret would have approved of, and while it wasn't his style, he could see the merits to the motion as well.

Simon's box was dragged the rest of the way out from among the other cargo, and Mal powered down all the systems that kept it shut and grabbed hold of the locking lever. “Well,” he suggested, eyes fixed on Simon. “Let's see what a man like you would kill for,” he finished as he pulled the lever and then kicked the lid open.

There was a girl in that box. A naked-as-the-day-she-was-born female. A teenager too judging from the approximate size of her. As far as Cid could see from the awkward angle anyway.

“Miss Kaylee, would you happen to have a spare set of those wonderful cover-alls you're wearing?” Cid asked quietly as Simon begged to 'check her vitals' (the surprise of the naked female having slackened Jayne's hold of the young man just enough to allow him speech once more). Mal countered by asking if that's what they're calling it these days in a disbelieving and mildly derogatory fashion. Man clearly didn't hold with the smuggling of people.

“Yeah,” Kaylee answered Cid. “You think I should fetch 'em?”

“Better than leaving the girl in the buff,” Cid replied firmly.

Kaylee nodded and dashed off to her bunk to grab some clothes for the girl to wear, at least until either the girl's own clothes were unearthed from among the cargo or someone had taken the poor thing shopping if she didn't have anything of her own.

The girl proceeded to wake up, scream, and then there was a lot of confusion as Simon finally escaped from Jayne and tried to calm her down. And successfully did so. Kaylee returned with the spare pair of cover-alls in time to hear Mal ask: “What the hell is this?” in a very confused and only slightly angry voice.

“This is my sister,” Simon answered. Bit of a shock to everyone.

Still, Kaylee helped the girl into the cover-alls, and then Simon took her to the ship's infirmary before being escorted himself to the kitchen where he was sat down and everybody else waited for the explanation.

“She's a genius, you rescued her from bein' experimented on by government scientists, an' now yer on the run. That about sums it up?” Cid asked when Simon had gone through his somewhat lengthy explanation and been questioned a little bit.

Simon nodded.

“A beautiful tale of woe, but in the meantime you've heaped a lot of trouble on me and mine,” Mal stated, not totally unfeelingly, but a fair bit of the feeling he was showing was _mildly pissed off_.

“I didn't think -”

“No I don't imagine you did,” Mal cut him off. “In consequence of which, we now have a kidnapped federal officer on board, and the Alliance on our tail what's more.”

“How much does the Alliance know?” Zoe asked her husband quietly.

Wash shrugged, shaking his head at the same time. “Can't say,” he admitted. “I killed the signal pretty quick, so they might just have our position.”

“Or they might have personal profiles on each and every one of us, and we won't know until the Fed wakes up for questioning,” Mal finished.

“What d' we do?” Jayne asked pointedly.

Mal thought for a moment, looking around at every face in the room, settling on Inara's face last before speaking his piece. “The job,” he said. “We do the job and we get paid.”

Jayne nodded his own approval for the plan. He liked getting paid. It was, after all, what he'd signed on for.

“I got word from Patience she's waitin' for us,” Mal continued. “We circle round to Whitefall make the deal, get out, keep flying,” he finished decisively.

“What about us?” Simon asked, nerves clear in his whole person, clearly afraid of the answer he would receive – whatever it was, most likely.

Cid snorted to himself. Kid was just as afraid of being on the run all the time as he was of being caught. Likely be dead in days without someone to teach 'em _how_ to survive on the Rim planets.

“Well,” Mal said. “Since the only person got shot in that little altercation ain't complainin' about it,” he said with a look at Cid – who just held up both hands and shook his head to indicate that, no, he was not now and would not _be_ complaining. “I guess we'll just let you be on your merry when we hit Whitefall.”

“Mal,” Inara started, her tone reprimanding. “You know those two wouldn't last a day on Whitefall -!”

“Don't question a captain in front of the people who are supposed to take orders from 'im Miss,” Cid cut in firmly, a bit of a growl in his voice. “Ain't nothin' more liable to get the airlock offered you as a means of goin' on your merry if you don't like the way things are run.”

Eyebrows went up in surprise on all but two faces as Cid suddenly had everybody's attention. Simon's brows were drawn together as he frowned and considered the gruff blonde with the unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. The man who somehow hadn't needed medical treatment after being shot. The man who had already defended the captain's right to make any damn decision he wanted. Inara's expression flattened and she pursed her lips in slight displeasure at being scolded that way.

“Then should I question you instead?” Inara suggested, regaining her composure. “You pulled a bullet out of your side and didn't have so much as a scratch five minutes later, and that without _any_ medical attention.”

“How d'you know I didn't have any healing done to me?” Cid asked with an easy smile.

“The only person on this boat to qualified to give that sort of attention is Mr Top-Three-Percent from MedAcad over here,” Mal answered, suspicion beginning to rise uncomfortably within himself regarding the man who had been defending his captain-y rights to give whatever orders he liked to everyone on the boat even though they'd barely exchanged ten words directly. There was a hint of the beginnings of worry in his tone as he wondered what _this_ passenger was hiding.

“He's certainly the only one stupid enough to say where he got his training and what he specialised in,” Cid allowed easily as he relaxed back on his chosen chair and stretched his arms up before bringing his hands down behind his head, fingers woven together. A display of total carelessness that would only be increased by Cid raising his feet to the table-top – something he wouldn't do, as there was a bowl full of the fruit he'd brought on board right where he would be most comfortable resting his feet.

“What's your business then?” Simon asked. “Hell, it seems I'm a dead man anyway – what's _your_ business?” he asked, turning from Cid – who he'd originally asked – to Mal.

“I'm going to ignore that you directed that _very_ impertinent question at _me_ because, as it happens, I'm a might curious to how Mr Highwind would be answerin' of that question as well,” Mal said, turning from Simon to Cid as he spoke. “You paid us most handsome for your passage, been respectful of my position, my crew -”

“Hell, you even been respectful of me,” Jayne put in.

“An' that ain't easy,” Mal acknowledged wryly. “You brought fresh foodstuffs on board, an' I'm mighty grateful for your generosity in sharin' with us. But I'm still suspicious of a man who ain't hurt despite having his own fresh blood on his coat, an' I recall, your cargo was even bigger 'n the doc's.”

Cid nodded. “Indeed,” he agreed. “I'm apparently upright and tight-lipped with no love lost on the Alliance. I'm generous with my cash and resources, I don't ask questions, all the _best_ things you could want in a passenger, hmm?” he asked with a smile.

“Too much of a good thing,” Zoe agreed lowly, catching on to what Cid was leading up to.

“An' pulling a bullet out of your own side, callin' it a mosquito bite, an' not even being hurt despite the blood... that's just crazy stuff,” Kaylee added. “All mystery like.”

“So if you don't mind and since we've already opened the doc's crate, how's about we go take a look at _yours_ now?” Mal suggested, though it wasn't really a suggestion, and he certainly wasn't asking permission. Just asking to do it without fuss or having to get Jayne to restrain _him_ like had already been done to the young doctor.

“Sure,” Cid agreed, dropping his arms from behind his head and heaving himself out of his chair.

“Just like that?” Simon asked, blinking in shock. “You threaten to cut off my nose for sticking it in other people's business and when _he_ asks to see your cargo you just agree?!”

“His ship,” Cid answered as he tucked his chair into the table. “Makes everything on board his business less he says otherwise.”

Even Sheppard Book – the calm, silent presence throughout the whole mess who had yet to find any reason to put forth his opinion – _gaped_ at Cid's declaration. It was like handing the power of a supreme deity over to one man. Since when did _passengers_ take orders, after all?

Cid moved towards the door and everybody fell in behind him, suddenly keen to see what _he_ was shipping after the 'scandal' of River Tam popping out of her cryo-box naked and screaming. Mal was first in that line, naturally. He was the one who had 'suggested' they open up Cid's cargo after all.

~oOo~

They _all_ lined up along the stairs, walkways, and just behind Cid as he knelt down beside his cargo.

Cid flipped open an almost invisible hatch and pressed a button. “You awake Boss? They want to meet you,” he said as his hands moved to release other catches around the large box.

“Captain, what have I told you about calling me that?” a low, slightly static voice answered out of a speaker that had been hidden by the hatch Cid had opened.

“That at least it wasn't as slave-sounding as 'master' an' 'my lord', but you still prefer bein' addressed by the name your ma gave you,” Cid answered with an affectionate smile. “You getting up? I've released the latches already.”

A dark, but fond chuckle echoed out of that little speaker. “Step back, I've got the lid.”

Cid grinned, closed the little cover over the communication device, and did as instructed.

Some jaws dropped, some eyes bugged out, and some faces did both as Vincent raised the lid of his coffin an inch and shifted it to the side so that he could sit up and pull himself out.

“Gaia you're sexy when you climb out of there,” Cid breathed, shocking the crew and his fellow passengers even more than seeing a man calmly climb out of a box that had been locked had already shocked them. Or perhaps it was just compound shock. One shock on top of another building up and becoming bigger as they piled. “You do it so gracefully. No one moves like you Vincent,” Cid continued softly, walking closer to the tall, dark-haired man like a person hypnotised or drugged.

“Cid,” Vincent purred, reaching his normal, leather-gloved hand out to stroke the old pilot's face – only to redirect his attention when he noticed... “Why is there blood on your coat?” he asked lowly, the purr disappearing in favour of a hard edge. Vincent pulled at Cid's clothing until the origin of the blood stain was visible, and though the wound itself was gone, he'd know a bullet hole from anything, anywhere. “Why were you shot?” Vincent demanded lowly.

Cid kissed Vincent's cheek and cupped both of his hands around Vincent's non-gauntleted one. “It's fine,” he said first, not actually meaning his physical state, as that at least was clear to Vincent form his inspection. “Was just a Fed got jumpy tryin' an' failin' ta make an arrest. Trigger-finger musta twitched on 'is pea-shooter when some of us snuck up and caught him by surprise from behind, is all. Coulda been the ship's mechanic got shot instead a me, an' she's too pretty to let that happen to. Like all the good bits out of Aerith an' The Brat -” even after all these centuries, Yuffie was still _The_ Brat to Cid, so Vincent always knew who he was talking about, “- with the bonus of Reeve's technical know-how thrown in. Couldn't let 'er get shot, di'n' have time ta pull a Barrier or a Shield,” Cid placated.

Vincent nodded in allowance. “Bullet,” he said, demanded lowly, clawed hand held out for the offending item to be placed in it.

Cid released his hold on Vincent's hand to pull the little lump of metal out of the pocket he'd ended up dropping it into and handed it over.

“Um, hello?” Mal called from just four feet away, distracting both men as Vincent closed a clawed fist over the bullet. “As captain of this here boat I'd like to know what _two_ of my paying passengers were doin' smuggling _people_ in their cargo, I've only got a half-way good explanation for _one_ of 'em so far, an' the second one is wearing a gorram gold claw!”

Vincent chuckled lowly, the sound echoing in the cargo bay, his red eyes close in amusement as he gently wrapped his leather-gloved hand around the back of Cid's head, drawing him closer. “It's actually an alloy, not pure gold, and I get ' _smuggled_ ', Captain, in no small part because I enjoy the moment of my discovery. I am confident that my Cid paid for more than just his own passage would qualify,” Vincent answered. _Then_ , when he was done talking, he looked up at the peanut gallery. “Who is the other,” he coughed in polite amusement, “ _person_ _smuggler_?” Vincent asked as his bright red eyes scanned the many faces.

“Brown hair and eyes, neat as a new pin if sweaty from nerves, Core bred and Alliance raised, had his little sister in a cryo-box,” Cid answered. He had his own blue eyes closed as he smiled and happily leant into Vincent's touch.

“Why?” Vincent asked.

“They were hurting her. I had to get her out,” Simon answered, forgetting for a moment that this new person had no idea of the particulars that had already been explained once to everybody else.

“Ah, the ever-present _they_ ,” Vincent said. “So you rescued your sister from harm, and now you're on the run, and you haven't any idea how to survive without all the comforts of Core life, do you boy?” Vincent asked, though it was clearly a rhetorical question.

“Don't even know what all the Alliance did to the girl,” Cid supplied softly. “Not likely ta be as bad as what Hojo did, but...”

“But only because the Alliance doesn't understand the things that Hojo had access to,” Vincent finished lowly, then sighed.

“Back to me demanding to know what the gorram hell is going on,” Mal prompted, “on _my ship_.”

“I handed over appropriate gold for two passengers, cargo, as well as a generous tip, a shiny new part your ship needed, and fresh foodstuffs,” Cid answered. “Here's the second person I paid for.”

“I just came aboard in my sleeping capsule -” people got _funny_ if he called it a coffin after he'd just climbed out of it, “- and didn't properly introduce myself,” Vincent finished.

“You _still_ haven't,” Mal pointed out.

“Vincent Valentine, pleased to meet you Captain. Forgive me for not shaking your hand right now, but I have an arm full of my life's companion on one side, and a very sharp claw I don't think you want to shake on the other.”

“Companion?” Inara asked, surprised.

“Not in the sense of the Alliance-sanctioned profession,” Vincent answered shortly. “I mean lover, soul-mate, best friend -”

“Property too,” Cid interjected, knowing that Vincent would leave it off. “I _belong_ to you. Planet made it so,” he said, looking up to look Vincent in the eye fiercely. He didn't want that fact to be forgotten or unacknowledged.

Vincent sighed. “Yes,” he admitted. “That too,” he allowed, and bent his head to kiss Cid's lips, tenderly and unashamedly with everybody looking on, regardless of whether they wanted to or not.

“Alright, break it up,” Mal ordered. “So, Mr Highwind is the personal property of the man he was shipping in a great big box? Well that's just _shiny_. What's _your_ business then?”

“We're on holiday,” Vincent answered. “Hitch-hiking around the 'verse at our leisure, now that we know it's out there and accessible, as well as not having any more business back home that needs our personal attentions.”

“But what, exactly, is your _business_?” Mal asked again, his hand moving towards his gun where it rested at his hip.

“My Cid here is a pilot, mechanic, and engineer by trade. He designs, builds, maintains, pilots and captains the most wonderful airships,” Vincent answered, a fond, gentle smile on his face as he spoke with pride in Cid's abilities. “As for me... well, before I was turned into a science experiment I was what people might have called _a professional_ ,” he purred more dangerously as he looked up at the others. “Since then, I'm more a... force of nature, I suppose.”

“ _Another_ _one_ probed at by the Alliance?” Zoe asked, simultaneously incredulous over their luck and disgusted with the Alliance.

“No,” Vincent answered shortly. “I was a specimen for a man called Hojo, who worked for a company called ShinRa long, _long_ before the Alliance ever showed up.”

“Before the Alliance?” Wash asked, confused.

“The Alliance has existed almost since the first settlements after leaving Earth-That-Was,” Simon said quietly, equally confused.

“Ah,” Vincent purred. “And here, we come to the question you all should have been asking _much_ sooner. It isn't 'where are we going?', and it isn't 'who are we?', it's 'where are we from?'”

“Alright then,” Mal said, squaring his chin and crossing his arms over his chest. “Where _are_ you from?”

“The Enix system,” Vincent and Cid both answered together, calm as you please and completely aware of the ripple of silence that covered the cargo bay as a result.

“What's the Enix system?” Kaylee asked at last, the first to break the silence. “I ain't ever heard of an Enix system, an' I got a lot of brothers all went out into the 'verse lookin' f'r work.”

“The Enix system was found to be already populated when the ships with the terraforming technology reached them,” Sheppard Book said, a thoughtful frown on his face as he spoke.

“That's right,” Cid agreed. “Planets of the Enix system each have a few thousand years of recorded history, at least, before those great ugly ships full of effectively _alien_ technology showed up in our skies.”

“So, wait, you guys are from this _Enix_ _system_ , which had people on it before anybody from Earth-That-Was showed up, so... are you guys _not_ human?” Jayne asked.

“Does _this_ ,” Vincent said, holding up his gauntlet, “look _human_ to you?”

Jayne shrugged. “You could just have weird taste,” he answered.

“We ain't what you are, let's leave it at that,” Cid suggested as he wrapped his arms around Vincent's waist and rubbed his cheek against the taller man's chest.

“Now, my Cid said something about a federal officer?” Vincent asked, and though the tone was light, there was a dangerous undercurrent to it, an _edge_ to his slight smile and a cold glint in his eyes. “I would very much like to _talk_ with the pathetic little man that put _this_ -” he held up the little bullet between the tips of two claws, “- into my Cid.”

“Well, we _do_ need some information out of 'im,” Mal allowed thoughtfully. “Professional, you said? You still do... _professional_ things now that you're a 'force of nature'?”

“I have been known to,” Vincent answered. “On occasion.”

“Cerberus, Death Penalty, or...?” Cid asked, stepping away from Vincent's hold and towards the reinforced casket.

“Oh no,” Vincent said, shaking his head with an amused smile. “This is going to be an interrogation, love, I won't need any of those. However...” Vincent cut his eyes back to Mal. “What sort of medical equipment do you have aboard? Needles by any chance? Nasty looking ones for preference.”

The expression on Mal's face – indeed on everybody's faces – cycled through wide-eyed, jaw-clenching, resisting the urge to swallow nervously, morbid curiosity and the blatant thought that they weren't sure they wanted to know.

Vincent hummed in amusement. “Never mind,” he dismissed. “If the man was nervous enough to fire accidentally, likely I won't need anything more than I am presently equipped with,” he said, dropping the spent bullet from between his claws back to the palm of his hand and closing his clawed fist over the bit of metal again. “If you would show me to the unfortunate, and explain to me what you need to know from him?”

~oOo~

Vincent looked down his nose at the tied up federal agent. “Let's start with the basics,” he said absently. “Your name, your age, as well as your planet and city of origin.”

“I'm not going to tell you _anything_!” Dobson answered firmly.

“Wonderful,” Vincent breathed out with a smile. “Because I don't _really_ want you to,” he explained as he crouched down fluidly so that he was squatting in front of the prisoner. “Do you see this?” he asked, holding up the bullet Cid had pulled from his own side – in his leather-gloved hand, it wouldn't do to distract the man with the claw _yet_.

Dobson eyed the slug and nodded slowly.

“This is the bullet that you put into someone who is very dear to me,” Vincent explained, quietly, slowly, as though talking to a child who needed to be told what they had done wrong so that they could accept their punishment as reasonable. “With a _pea-shooter_ ,” he continued with a sneer. “A hair-trigger gun under the hand of an itchy finger, you're a man with a nervous disposition and little experience in your current line of work. That is, if you have any experience at all, which I honestly doubt. You're a disgrace -”

“It's his real name,” Cid supplied just then from where he was standing by Vincent with a portable cortex screen – ShinRa patent, rather than Alliance.

“Oh, Mr Dobson, you are a _true_ disgrace. Tut tut. Under cover and using your real name,” Vincent said, and tsk'ed the man as he shook his head. “No, no, no,” he scolded as he took the screen from Cid and read out what was there. “Lawrence Dobson, thirty-two last Thursday. Oh, well, happy birthday Mr Dobson. Born and raised on Osiris, why, that's the same as the Tams, isn't it Mr Dobson? Ah, here we go. Average grades through schooling, good at sports. Joined the regular police force straight out of school and became an agent just a few short years ago. This is your first ever mission without a partner,” Vincent recited, then sighed and looked at Dobson like a disappointed parent. “And you _blew_ it, Mr Dobson. You blew it _bad_.”

“How?” Dobson demanded. Even tied up and at the mercy of his captors, he demanded.

“You got on board a ship with not _only_ your target, but a large number of unknowns. Mr Dobson, _every_ unknown should be considered a potential _hostile_ , not a potential _ally_. Tut tut and for _shame_ , Mr Dobson,” Vincent scolded. “But that wasn't your _biggest_ mistake,” he said. “Oh no, that was bad, but worse, you waited until you were in the black to call for back up. Should really learn to call for your back up _before_ you get onto the ship full of potential hostiles. Buy your passage, call for your back up, _then_ get on board. But you see, the pilot _caught_ that transmission of yours. Scrambled it faster than you can say _snafu_ , Mr Dobson. Now, granted, the crew here doesn't know how much of your transmission actually got through before it got caught – and they would _very_ much like to know, Mr Dobson. They would like to know that _very_ , _very_ much. But that's not your biggest mistake either. No, your _biggest_ mistake, Mr Dobson, was to fire your pea-shooter while _in the black_. What would have happened if you'd somehow hit _just_ the wrong thing when you were waving it around in the cargo bay like it was some magic wand that gave you all the power in the 'verse?”

“Coulda hit the power cables that keep the engine runnin',” Cid supplied. “We'd be dead in the black with no power. Coulda hit a weak point in the hull, there'd be a breach, ship would start haemorrhaging air, less likely considering it was _just_ a pea-shooter, but still possible. Coulda hit Sheppard Book. All kinds of bad luck to kill a holy man.”

“But instead of any of those, you hit Cid,” Vincent said, his red eyes glowing. “ _My_ Cid,” he added for emphasis. Then, without warning, Vincent used the tip of one claw to cut a hole in Dobson's clothes and skin, then drove the bullet into the man's side hard.

Dobson cried out in sudden pain, and then panted as the bullet was lodged into his side and left there. Where it was left to continue to cause the man pain with every breath he took and every twitch he made. Vincent was very careful about where he'd put that bullet.

“Now, that's _my_ business taken care of, which still leaves the question that the captain of this ship has for you, Mr Dobson. How much of your message actually got through?” Vincent asked, politely, almost absently, as if he _hadn't_ just driven a bullet into the man's side with his own hand. “I hasten to add, Mr Dobson, that in case you think that with the pain you know now, that nothing can be worse and so you can resist further torture...?” Vincent said, as he raised his sharply clawed gauntlet pointedly.

“Do you know how much trouble you're in?” Dobson asked, hissing through his pain.

“Why don't you spell it out?” Vincent prompted.

“You've never had trouble like this before. You think this is just a smuggling wrap?” Dobson said, working his mouth in effort to forget the hurt, trying to get these people to turn. “The package that boy is carrying -”

“Is a girl,” Cid cut in. “Very young, cute too. Not all together upstairs, apparently, and that by orders from the Alliance itself.”

“That girl is a precious commodity,” Dobson stated firmly. “They'll come after her. Long after you bury me, they'll come.”

Vincent shook his head. “I haven't decided about actually _killing_ you yet, Mr Dobson,” he said, almost kindly. “Certainly your face will be less pretty when I'm done with you though, if you don't tell me _very_ quickly how much they know.”

“They know everything!” Dobson spat angrily, still defiant. “They know every name, every record, they know how many... nose-hairs you've got!”

Vincent sighed, shook his head, and stood up. “Truly pathetic,” he said. “Mr Dobson, I think you are in the wrong profession,” he stated as he looked down at the man once again. “Utterly incapable of withstanding interrogation, and you can't even _lie_. It's written all over your face. The Alliance doesn't know anything.”

Dobson's face burned red and he hung his head, teeth grinding together as he studied the metal floor before him rather than the people who stood around. “Alright,” he grit out. “I can see you're not an idiot.”

“You have no idea how much we wish we could say the same of you, Mr Dobson,” Vincent replied suavely. “Just... disappointing.”

“Then how about I talk a language you will understand? Money. This girl is worth a lot of money. I mean a _lot_. You kill me, there's nothing, but... if you help me out, you'll have enough for you to buy your own ship. One better than this piece of crap.”

Vincent and Cid both laughed. “We're not on this ship because we can't afford better,” Cid informed the law-man. “We're on this ship because we _want_ to be.”

With that, the Vincent re-applied the man's gag and the two men left the cabin where the man had been stowed.

~oOo~

Cid and Vincent had relayed the results of their interrogation to the captain and were in Cid's bunk, sharing a cup of tea and snuggling, when the man's voice came over the speakers.

“ _This is the Captain. We're passing another ship. Looks to be Reavers. Inside's probably a raiding party. Could be they're headed somewhere particular. Could be they already hit somebody an' they're full up. So, everyone, stay calm. Now, we try to run, they'll have to chase us. It's their nature. We're holding course, should be passing them in a minute, so we'll see what they do. Zoe, you come on up to the bridge._ ”

The two from the Enix system sighed. The Reavers weren't an issue in their sky-space, not an issue on their home worlds. There were, simply, some things nastier than Reavers on the planets of the Enix system. If they came, and they landed, they didn't live to take off again.

It wasn't long though before the announcement came through that the Reavers had passed them by, still, Cid and Vincent were aware that they'd probably have to go past the Reavers again on the way back off Whitefall.

Before that though, they had to deal with Mr Dobson getting loose. No one was quite sure how that had happened, but he'd moved quickly for the medical bay and taken a hostage – River Tam, the 'package' he had been after in the first place. He'd also pointed his gun at Kaylee, who was watching over the girl, with instruction for her to make neither move nor sound.

As soon as man and hostage were away from the med bay, the mechanic was at the comm unit and letting the whole ship know that Dobson had River.

Simon had been up in the cockpit, talking with Wash about possibly finding somewhere other than Whitefall to settle, but when that little bit buzzed over the speakers he was racing through the ship towards the cargo bay. After all, where else would a Fed take his pay-day but the way out?

Cid and Vincent beat him there though.

Vincent was holding Dobson up off the ground, his sharp and shiny claw wrapped around the man's neck while Cid held the man's arms tight behind his back so he couldn't try and scrabble free.

“You held a gun to a little girl's head,” Vincent growled at the man. “That's not something even most scum-bag people would hold with.”

“You're going to kill me in cold blood?” Dobson asked frantically as his face started changing colour from lack of sufficient oxygen.

“You mistake me for a _good_ man, Mr Dobson,” Vincent purred. “After our little interview, I really would have expected you to know better.”

“ _We've got Reavers incoming!_ ” Wash's voice came over the speakers. “ _Everybody get ready for leaving. Kaylee, I want you in the engine room, fast as you can please._ ”

“Ooh, _Reavers_ ,” Cid said happily. “Now _there_ is a fight we can get into.”

“Cid,” Vincent scolded. “They'll be in their ship.”

“A summon can get into it then,” Cid corrected himself. “Or you could fly rings around them,” he suggested lowly as he moved to massage Vincent's lower back beneath his red cloak. “You know how I love watching you in action.”

“A sentiment returned,” Vincent answered with a purr. “Alright,” he granted, then absently crushed Dobson's throat completely and tossed him out the back of the ship – right past Mal.

“Alright what?” the captain asked, wide-eyed even as he pressed the button that would close the rear-hatch again.

“How would you like to see some Reavers out of the sky permanently?” Cid asked with a grin.

“Always a plus in my book,” Mal answered. “How?”

“You let me out the hatch once you're sure they're chasing us,” Vincent answered. “Though, please do be sure to let me back _in_ when I'm done. Breathing when I'm out of atmo _isn't_ _fun_.”

“I was under the impression it wasn't possible without a suit,” Mal quipped, and slammed his hand down on the button that would _open_ the rear-hatch. “And I'm sure they're chasing us right now.”

Vincent walked out and, standing on the edge of the ramp, transformed. Spreading his wings as Chaos, Vincent launched himself at the Reaver ship that was following.

“Damn...” Mal said, eyes wide.

“He wasn't kidding about being a force of nature,” Cid said. “That there you just saw? The personification of Chaos itself. It's good to let him out and have some fun now and then, or Vincent starts getting nightmares.”

“Right...”

~oOo~

Un-keen as they were to transport fugitives, if just because doing so made it that much harder to get even vaguely decent (and preferably paying) work, a course was set for the Enix system. This choice was made based on there being no Alliance out in the Enix system, as well as Cid and Vincent promising that they had friends on Gaia (seventh in the system) who would be able to actually _help_ River.


End file.
